


right time, right place

by thompsborn



Series: parkner week 2020 [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Future AU, M/M, Parkner Week 2020, or rather the lead up to a proposal, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25652047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thompsborn/pseuds/thompsborn
Summary: The ring has been tucked into the very, very,veryback of the top shelf of the pantry since he bought it, because Peter might have spider abilities and could very easily climb the wall to reach the top, but he seems to like the reminder that Harley is taller than him and always just asks him to grab whatever’s up there instead. It’s—odd. Adorable. Harley loves him a lot.Loves him enough to want to marry him. Which brings everything right back around to the ring.-parkner week 2020, day one: future au
Relationships: Harley Keener & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Harley Keener/Peter Parker
Series: parkner week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859782
Comments: 6
Kudos: 176





	right time, right place

**Author's Note:**

> can i say thank u to lily (lilacsandlilies) for reading this over for me and then sending me literally like the sweetest messages i have ever read about my writing wtf???? i adore u thank u
> 
> anyway!! here is this!! kinda short but definitely sweet!!
> 
> happy parkner week 2020!

day one—future au

Harley isn’t usually one to overthink things.

As in—he tends to _under_ think, fears that he’ll talk himself out of all of his ideas and goals and ambitions if he lets himself ponder them for too long. His brain seems to naturally try to put itself into overdrive, but after a few too many almost-panic attacks, he kind of adapted to just… stop thinking and act instead.

Which works, in some ways. He gets more things done and doesn’t have the almost-panic attacks anymore, but he also makes some—stupid choices, says dumb things, makes idiotic mistakes, because he didn’t let himself consider them enough and then—too late to change the past, right? And maybe, sure, it’s not the most healthy way to cope with overthinking, and maybe, eventually, he should put in the effort to fix that and figure out a better way to exist, but—it works, for now, and that’s enough.

It just doesn’t seem to be working for this one specific thing, which is—

Well. A big thing. A big, huge thing. That also happens to have a ring.

An engagement ring, to be specific. A pretty good one, too—not too expensive but still feels right, was approved by all of their closest friends (long term ones _and_ the newer ones) and has been tucked into the very, very, _very_ back of the top shelf of the pantry since he bought it, because Peter might have spider abilities and could very easily climb the wall to reach the top, but he seems to like the reminder that Harley is taller than him and always just asks him to grab whatever’s up there instead. It’s—odd. Adorable. Harley loves him a lot.

Loves him enough to want to marry him. Which brings everything right back around to the ring.

And proposing. Which is—the main issue, really. The whole getting on one knee and spilling out the contents trapped with the confinements of the ribcage and hoping they say yes. That’s. That is—

It should be easy. Speaking isn’t an issue for Harley—he never shuts the fuck up, really, and spent all of high school and parts of college always stepping forward to be the public speaker because it’s never been a problem before. He might get a little nervous about jumbling his words and feel slightly embarrassed about stuttering or stammering, but it’s human, and he doesn’t mind looking human. This, though, is not public speaking, and whenever he thinks about it, his heart just—and his head—and it’s all very—

Everything. Everything is a lot and a lot of it is overwhelming and he just…

He’ll give it another week and try thinking about it then.

All the signs of him being nervous are there. The leg bouncing and the fingers twisting together and the tapping and the tugging on his lower lip with his teeth, the heels of his shoes audibly hitting the ground due to the insistency of which he’s shaking his knee. It’s been a solid twenty minutes of this and, really, it’s kind of impressive that it takes that long for Tony to let out a heavy sigh, carelessly dropping the wrench in his hand onto the working bench and turning to look at Harley with thinly veiled annoyance and blatant exasperation. Harley’s expecting him to demand he talk about whatever’s got him so antsy, or to just tell Harley to calm down a bit, but he doesn’t expect Tony to just shake his head and roll his eyes, clicks his tongue once and then, with utmost certainty, he tells Harley, “Just _ask him_ already.”

“I’m—” Harley stops. Thinks, for a moment, that he must have heard Tony wrong—runs those four words over in his head once, a second time, a third, until—yeah. Yeah, that’s really what Tony said. Which means that Tony knows—which is not good because Harley did not tell him. For the sole reason that Tony has a weak spot for his pseudo son and, due to the softness that has grown tenfold since having Morgan, he is unable to lie to Peter—or keep secrets from him. Which is proven by the fact that Peter knew about half of his birthday presents last year a whole week _before_ his birthday because he had jokingly asked Tony to tell him and Tony just—stupidly, really, for a genius—started listing off all the gifts he knew about, until Peter had to yell at him to stop, hands over his ears as if that would do anything to stop Tony’s voice from reaching his enhanced hearing. So, if Tony knows about Harley’s plan, then that’s not really—comforting. But, along with that— “How the hell do you know about that?”

Tony rolls his eyes again, which is definitely why Morgan has a teenager’s attitude at the young age of nine (almost ten, at, of course, Morgan’s insistence) and crosses his arms over his chest, cocks a brow, tilts his head to the side, says, “You told my daughter and didn’t think she would tell me?”

And, well—yeah. Maybe that wasn’t the smartest choice.

Morgan, despite being an excellent secret keeper, is chaos incarnate and blabs about them anyway. But it felt important, getting her approval—not Tony’s, or May’s, because—not to sound cocky, but—he knows that May loves him and Tony adores him and he knows they would approve if he asked them, but, again, horrible at keeping secrets from Peter, and the element of surprise is kind of an important factor to the whole thing. Plus, Morgan may be small and young and—literally nine (almost ten!) years old, but she’s protective of Peter in a way that is fierce and burning with the love of a sibling. Like, just as protective as Harley is of Abbie. Just as protective as Peter is of everybody. It’s a bit intense and endearing.

“I had to know she was okay with it,” Harley tells Tony matter of factly.

Tony appears to think about this for a moment, ponders it with a thoughtful, almost delicate expression on his features, and then he nods, as if that response checks out perfectly. “Still, you should just ask him.”

Harley waves a hand through the air with an aura of nonchalance that is definitely fabricated and not at all a representation of the turmoil and the nerves frying his brain. “I will,” he says. “It just—hasn’t felt right, you know? Right time, right place, right—words, and circumstances and—y’know. Just, not yet.”

“Makes sense,” Tony hums. Turns back to the work bench and gets back to work and that’s almost all there is, Harley thinks, until Tony adds, “It’s bullshit, but—sure. Makes sense that you’re being an idiot.”

“What—” Harley splutters, quite idiotically, in all fairness, looks at Tony with wide eyes that reflect some kind of betrayal and confusion. “What the hell are you—how am I being an idiot?!”

There’s a smug kind of look that dances across Tony’s features, though he doesn’t look back at Harley as he says, “Kid, you seem to forget that I had to propose to Pepper, and it took me—what? Nine years to do it? It never feels like the right time or the right place. It’s only right if it’s the right person, as cheesy as that sounds. Stop making excuses to make you feel better about being scared and just ask Peter to marry you before the rest of us start pulling our hair out, alright? Or, even better—before Peter asks you first.”

Admittedly, Peter kind of—already asked, once upon a time. Like, he just—tucked his feet under Harley’s calf and shoveled a handful of popcorn into his mouth, wasn’t even looking at Harley, eyes glued to the TV, watching whatever movie they put on with rapt interest, hair mussed up from a long day of classes and eyes tired in that twenty year old college student kind of way. Harley remembers that he had been looking at Peter—was for a while, completely forgetting that something was playing and that he was technically supposed to be paying attention to it, far too engrossed in everything _Peter_ and—younger, dumber, feeling like he would never be able to feel as much love as he did bubbling in his chest at that very moment.

(Twenty six, now, and aware that there’s always room to love more—falls harder every day, with every laugh and missed dinner and midnight game of Uno when Peter is still too energized from his nightly patrols to go to sleep but Harley is too tired to do much more than half heartedly play a stupid card game.)

The words had sort of come out of nowhere and, somehow, despite looking at Peter the entire time, Harley almost missed the way his lips moved to form the question, jumped in a little bit of shock and had to manually think back and process what Peter had said, and— “You ever think about getting married?”

It made Harley blink, stunned, and—they were four years into their relationship at the time, having gotten together when they were sixteen (not counting the two week break they took when they were eighteen and both overly stressed by so many things that communication just sort of—fell apart, until they missed each other too much and finally talked it out) but they were still barely twenty and pulling all night study sessions because ESU was challenging even when put against their advanced intelligence, and, sure, Harley had considered their futures together, day dreamed about the potential and the maybe’s and even went as far as once pondering over what they would name their kids, but he thought—he was so _sure_ —that it would still be a few years before something so serious even came into question. But, Harley, despite his surprise, has _never_ been a liar, so he nervously wet his lower lip and responded with, “Sometimes, yeah.”

Peter had nodded, a bit slow, still looking at the TV. “So do I,” he said, and—left it at that, for a few minutes, didn’t seem to notice (or, at least, didn’t react if he _did_ notice) that Harley did not stop openly staring, just taking in Peter’s side profile with wide eyes and blatant curiosity and confusion drawing his brows together in a furrow. Harley was starting to be convinced that the conversation was gonna end there, but then Peter softly added, “I think—I think I would, like… _now_ , if you—wanted to.” And then, after an audible hitch of breath and a soft sigh and an even lower tone: “Would you… want to?”

And Harley had been floored—stunned into silence because his first thought, the instant answer that surfaced in his head, was a resounding, enthusiastic _yes_. As in, _yes_ , Harley wanted to. As in, _yes_ , Harley forgot all of his fear, if only for a moment, of making such a big commitment when they weren’t even old enough to drink and was _enthralled_ by the mere _idea_ of running off and just—getting hitched. Making it law.

But.

But, that fear was there, bubbling under his skin, afraid that, somehow, doing something so drastic when he was only ninety nine percent sure he wanted it instead of one hundred percent certain would somehow jinx everything they had and—and that two week break would rear it’s head in something more permanent, something more harsh and painful and—unable to be fixed by communication.

Afraid that he needed that solidifying one percent more, or else he could lose Peter forever.

And that’s why Harley had looked away for a moment, cleared his head from the love filling his chest so that he could really _think_ , and replied with a soft spoken, “Yes.” Then, when Peter’s eyes snapped over to look at Harley, wide and beautifully bright, he added, “But not right now. Not yet.”

There had been a flash of—disappointment, almost, before Peter nodded. “When we’re both ready, then.”

“Yeah,” Harley had murmured. “When we’re both ready.”

There is no right time and there is no right place.

Harley thinks over those words, considers them, turns them over in his mind until they really settle into his bones. Stops himself from overthinking—still, probably, not healthy, but beneficial nonetheless—and starts carrying the ring around in his pocket so that it’s always on him, just in case. Laughs and misses dinner (again. and then again.) and has a few midnight games of Uno and schedules a movie night on a Wednesday, tucks his feet under Peter’s calf and looks at the TV, doesn’t really see the movie, just watches the movement on screen while he gnaws on his lower lip, considers—wonders—sucks it up and finally just asks—

“You ever think about getting married?”

(The ring is bright under the sun when they walk up the steps to the lake house that weekend, because it’s Morgan’s tenth birthday and, when there isn’t business to take care of that Peter and Harley can’t handle on their own, the Stark’s try to stay out of the city. As they approach, the door swings open and Morgan stares them down with a Birthday Girl crown perched on her head and a brand new Spider-Man plushie clutched in her hands. She looks at Harley, at Peter—eventually, at the ring on Peter’s finger, for a few long moments, and then nods, the action curt and simple, before finally letting them inside.

To Harley, it feels like she’s given them her blessing.)

**Author's Note:**

> as always, my ao3 is spidey-lad if you wanna yell at me or something, and please let me know what you think of this!!


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